


Stars Shining Bright

by orphan_account



Series: Dream a Little Dream Of Me [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nightmares, song related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 01:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft had nightmares; Lestrade helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars Shining Bright

_Stars shining bright above you_

Mycroft Holmes is always in control, always calm, always in command of himself and the situation. Always. Well, always with two notable exceptions, both of which now involve Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

The first exception is slightly messy, but rather fun, and it had taken a little while for Lestrade to persuade Mycroft to give it a go. Eventually Lestrade's somewhat enthusiastic methods of persuasion had worked, and for the first time in his life, Mycroft Holmes had allowed himself to some completely and utterly undone at another's behest. Mycroft still remains the one in control most of the time, but Lestrade's knack for knowing when Mycroft needs to just let go certainly makes life more bearable.

\---  
 _Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"_

The second exceptional circumstance is not messy, exactly, and not at all fun. It has haunted Mycroft for most of his adult life and Lestrade's involvement is even more recent than his involvement in the messy fun.

From the time the reality of Mycroft's professional responsibilities became clear to him, shortly after he moved into his current position as the _de facto_ British government, he started to suffer from the most gut-wrenching, nausea-inducing nightmares. Not every night, certainly. Mainly when he'd been at the top of his game, calmly heading off a crisis of epic proportions or smoothing over some diplomatic emergency, or apparently effortlessly ensuring that Sherlock couldn't gain access to a single coke dealer. The better he handled the situation, the worse the nightmares. He'd wake up, drenched in sweat, twisted in his sheets, panting - screaming sometimes - haunted by visions of every way things could have gone wrong. Riots, wars, fatal overdoses, they all appeared to him, as every possible disaster scenario played out in his mind. All starting with him making a tiny mistake, a minute error of judgement that end in catastrophe. He'd be haunted by the images for days, sometimes, a mocking reminder in his head that he was only ever one small fuck-up away from allowing chaos to take over.

\---  
 _Birds singing in the sycamore tree_

For this reason, he'd refused to stay overnight at Lestrade's flat, and had been reluctant to allow Lestrade to stay over at the house very often; and given his embarrassment over the issue, Mycroft had avoided explaining why. Of course, that hadn't gone down very well with the Detective Inspector, who alternated between concern for Mycroft, and resentment at being held at arm's length. Things had come to a head after a massively successful day, when the situation that Mycroft resolved had been unusually public. Obviously very few people knew of Mycroft's involvement in averting what had been shaping up to be World War Three, but Lestrade had guessed, and was keen to celebrate with a take-out, some smooching on the sofa, and with a bit of luck, mind-blowingly good sex.

Mycroft had demurred at the idea of the latter, and his unease at what he knew would be a deeply unpleasant night for him made him all but push Lestrade away and ask him to leave. The argument that followed - their first full-on, no-holds-barred slanging match - culminated in Lestrade accusing Mycroft of using him as a convenient fuck, to be called on to service a need and then expected to leave afterwards. "You might as well just hand me the fucking cash up front if you're going to keep treating me like a fucking whore!" was his parting shot, as he stormed out of the room.

Mycroft, ashen faced and distraught, had caught up with Lestrade at the front door.

"Gregory. _Please_." It was a broken whisper, and Lestrade's resolve had almost crumbled.

The conversation that followed was the most honest and painful of their relationship to date. Mycroft struggled to admit that anything was wrong, Lestrade continued to bristle at what he perceived as a lack of trust. Lestrade could be a patient man when he had to be, but he wasn't used to conducting negotiations in the same way as Mycroft, and after 40-odd minutes of Mycroft politely but intractably refusing to countenance his staying over, Lestrade eventually lost patience.

"Christ, Mycroft - I'm supposed to trust you enough to take your cock up my arse but you won't trust me enough to be in the same bed when you have a nightmare?"

Which, Mycroft had to concede, was a rather compelling argument.

\---  
 _Say "Nighty night" and kiss me_

They talked some more, after that, drank a little wine, snuggled and smooched on the sofa until they were both relaxed again and feeling sleepy. The argument and conversation afterwards had left them both feeling drained, feeling the need to be close, but not particularly in the mood for sex.

Despite their tiredness, comfy pyjamas, and snuggling together under a warm duvet, sleep didn't come easily that night. Mycroft was tense; he had established from the evidence that he normally thrashed about a bit before he woke. Perhaps he talked or made noises too? He twitched at the thought of it.

Lestrade, feeling none-too-relaxed himself, made soothing shushing noises, and rubbed Mycroft's upper arm gently.

"I am not a child, Gregory," Mycroft snapped. They both pretended that they couldn't hear the ever-so-slight wobble in his voice.

"No, you're a grumpy old sod who needs to get some sleep before saving us all from mad politicians in the morning. So shush and go to sleep."

Mycroft harrumphed, but snuggled in a little closer, nuzzling into the perfect curve between Lestrade's neck and collarbone. Lestrade moved his hand around, dropping until he could press it flat against the small of Mycroft's back, pulling him closer. Lestrade deliberately slowed his breathing, letting his muscles relax, smiling to himself as Mycroft, now half-asleep, instinctively followed suit.

\---  
 _Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me_

It was about two hours later when Lestrade woke up. Both he and Mycroft had rolled over during the night, he onto his back, Mycroft sprawled inelegantly mostly on his front. Mycroft was twitching and making soft, unhappy noises. Lestrade rolled towards him, then backed up sharply as Mycroft moved, facing away from Lestrade, flailing one arm wildly at imagined terrors. Mycroft's arm dropped back, but he was still twitching, sounding increasingly distressed.

Lestrade carefully wriggled closer until his chest was in contact with Mycroft's back. He ran a hand down Mycroft's arm, repeating the soothing gesture and sounds from earlier in the evening. An echo of a memory from Lestrade's childhood surfaced, his Mum holding him through his own nightmares after the car crash that killed his Dad. He squirmed a little until he was tight up against Mycroft, fitting himself against the other man from thigh to shoulder. Lestrade moved his hand forward and down, splaying it across Mycroft's belly, his touch firm enough to be grounding but not constricting. Mycroft's distress seemed to lessen just a little, but he was still making whimpering noises and shaking a little.

Lestrade's Mum had been a big fan of Mama Cass Elliot, and her songs had formed the soundtrack to Lestrade's pre-school years. When he was just a few years older, and waking screaming in the night, it was Mum singing Mama Cass that soothed him back to sleep.

\---  
 _While I'm alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me_

Lestrade raised his head, brought his lips near to Mycroft's ear, and very quietly, very softly, began to sing, "Stars shining bright above you... night breezes seem to whisper I love you". Lestrade felt himself pause. Their relationship to date had been passionate and loving, but neither had said the words yet. Lestrade gave himself a swift mental kick up the arse, and told himself it was just a song. He was pleased to note that it seemed to be having the desired calming effect on Mycroft. "Birds singing in the sycamore tree... dream a little dream of me."

Mycroft became aware of a gravelly voice singing softly, a warm body wrapped around him, holding him safe. He felt slightly disoriented. He was aware that his heart was pounding, and he was breathing hard, as if he'd been running from something terrifying. He didn't want to think about what he had been running from, so he focused on the warmth and the voice instead. He knew that he wasn't quite awake; he didn't want to be awake, he wanted to stay safe within those arms, and fall into that blissful chocolate velvet sound never to resurface. He let the sound wash over him, easing him back into sleep, barely hearing the words.

"Stars fading but I linger on, dear, still craving your kiss"

\---  
 _I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear, just saying this_

And so now, whenever Mycroft Holmes, who is always in control, has a great day, saving the country, or Sherlock - or occasionally the rather more self-sufficient Doctor Watson or DI Lestrade - with the unruffled calm of a swan gliding across a still lake, he ensures that he spends the night with Lestrade. This has become much easier since they moved in together, although there have been occasions when a helicopter, or private jet, or denying himself sleep for several hours have been necessary to achieve this. Mycroft is still uncomfortable, knowing the nightmares will come; but now instead of regarding falling asleep as a step into an abyss, it feels more like stepping off a ledge, knowing that he'll fall, but knowing too that he'll be caught, and held, and serenaded until he knows he's safe.

_Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you_  
 _Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you_  
 _But in your dreams whatever they b_ e  
 _Dream a little dream of me_

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in April 2011 for [this prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/8651.html?thread=38475211#t38475211): "Lestrade serenades Mycroft with 'Dream a Little Dream of Me'"


End file.
